


Not even past

by marinarusalka



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cap_Ironman Holiday Gift Exchange 2017, First Kiss, M/M, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinarusalka/pseuds/marinarusalka
Summary: Tony meets a painful reminder of his past, and Steve gets caught in the fallout.





	Not even past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XtaticPearl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/gifts).



> Written for the 2017 Cap_Ironman holiday gift exchange. My prompt was: "Steve hears about Obadiah Stane and goes searching for more information on who the man was to Tony. For someone who appreciates the past, this might be one time Steve comes to dislike it."
> 
> Thanks to Muccamukk for the beta read.
> 
> The title comes from a quote by William Faulkner: "The past is never dead. It's not even past."

Steve was trying hard not to fidget, and failing miserably. His watch told him it was nearly midnight, which meant he'd been at the gala for nearly four hours. He'd made the obligatory speech, posed for photo ops with every politician and wannabe celebrity in the room, and shaken hands with potential donors until his fingers went numb; surely his duty was done and it would be okay to leave soon?

_How did I get myself roped into this shindig anyway? Oh, that's right. Tony._

Tony Stark had actually showed up in person at Steve's brand-new Washington DC apartment, where Steve had been in the middle of unpacking, to invite him to the benefit gala for victims of the Chitauri attack. Steve had thought the personal visit was a bit of overkill until he realized that Tony's method of persuading people to do his will was to keep talking at them until they said yes just to make him stop. On the phone, Steve might've hung up on him. In person, well…

"You've got to back me up, Cap," Tony had insisted, pacing frantically among the boxes in Steve's living room. "Bruce is in the wind, Clint and Natasha are doing secret spy things, and Thor is, I don't know, on another plane of existence or something. If you don't show, I'll be the only Avenger there, and do you really think I should be the sole public face of the team? I mean, given a choice between just me or me plus a national icon--"

He'd gone on in this vein for about five minutes until Steve had caved. He'd accepted the invitation, and Tony's answering smile was so bright, Steve forgot to be annoyed.

So here he was now, in his Captain America uniform, sticking out like a sore thumb amidst a crowd of rich people in their evening wear. He was the only man in the room not wearing a tuxedo. Tony had shown up as Iron Man at first, but once he and Steve got done with their speeches, Tony had stood there on the stage and spread his arms, and the armor had dramatically flown off one piece at a time, revealing a perfectly tailored tux beneath. Steve had to admit it looked impressive, even as he wished he'd thought to bring a change of clothes for himself.

He could see Tony now, on the other side of the room, somehow managing to stand out even in a crowd of people who were all dressed just like he was. Tony was talking to an elegant couple Steve vaguely recognized as a New York state senator and her husband. Whatever Tony was saying to them must've been amusing, because the senator laughed and the husband -- who, Steve remembered, was the CEO of something-or-other on Wall Street -- clapped Tony's shoulder in a manner that promised large donations. Tony gave that dazzling smile of his again, and took a glass of wine from a passing waiter before turning away, presumably in search of more people to persuade.

"Tony Stark!" somebody called out.

Tony turned toward the voice, one hand raised in greeting, and abruptly froze. His smile stayed fixed in place, but something about his posture had Steve instinctively scanning the room for threats.

He couldn't see anything alarming. The man who'd called Tony's name was coming toward him, looking perfectly relaxed and harmless. He was younger and taller than Tony, with light brown hair and a gangly build, nothing threatening in his manner. But Tony was staring at him as if he'd seen a ghost, and that was enough to get Steve moving, weaving through the crowd until he stood side by side with Tony.

"Mr. Stark." The young man held out his hand, and Tony looked blankly at it for several seconds before apparently remembering how handshakes worked. "I hope you recognize me, I know it's been a while…"

"Ezekiel Stane," Tony said in a flat voice. "I didn't know you were in New York."

"I was meeting with some investors." Stane gave Tony's hand another vigorous shake before letting go. He had a faint British accent and a broad, toothy smile. "I don't know if you've heard, but I have a new startup going in Silicon Valley -- Technovore Robotics. "

"I've heard," Tony said. He seemed to be slowly pulling himself together, at least enough to make friendly conversation. "Nanotech, right? You did a thesis at Cambridge."

"Dad told you, didn't he?" Stane's smile shifted from sunny to wistful. "He always thought my interests were a little too sci-fi to be practical. I wish--" He bit his lip and turned away for a moment. "I wish he could be here to see what I'm doing. I like to think he would've been proud."

"He would be," Tony said. His voice was steady, but his face looked alarmingly pale. "He talked about you a lot. He may have thought nanotech was sci-fi, but he definitely thought you were brilliant."

"Thank you." Stane turned his head and blinked rapidly for a few seconds. "That means a lot coming from you. I know how close you two were -- in many ways, I think Dad saw you as a second son."

"I--" Tony started, and then abruptly fell silent, looking as if he had something stuck in his throat. The silence stretched, increasingly awkward, until Stane let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

"I'm sorry, this isn't the right occasion for family reminiscing, is it? Maybe we could get together another time?" He produced a slim silver card case from a breast pocket and held out a business card. Tony looked as if he was being offered a poisonous snake, but after a moment he reached out with a visible effort and took it. He managed to murmur some polite goodbyes as Stane faded into the crowd.

"Tony?" Steve said, and Tony turned toward him with a start.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Cap, didn't realize you were there."

"Yeah." Steve smiled. "I know, I'm easy to miss in a crowd."

Tony didn't smile back. "This is a boring party. Are you ready to leave? I'm ready to leave." He was heading for the door before he'd even finished speaking. Steve followed, feeling increasingly worried. The last time he'd seen Tony this upset had been right after Phil Coulson had been killed. And the name Stane was ringing a bell for him -- he was sure he'd seen it in Tony's SHIELD file. 

"Tony, are you all right?"

"I'm great. Fantastic." Tony tapped his right ear. "Happy, bring the limo around, we're going home."

By the time they made their way outside, Steve remembered what he'd read in Tony's file. Obadiah Stane, former CEO of Stark Industries. Old friend of the family, dating back to Howard's youth and the company's founding. Killed in a plane crash two years ago while vacationing in the Cayman Islands. 

Which, while tragic, didn't entirely explain the encounter Steve had just witnessed. Tony seemed more affected than Obadiah's own son, two years after the man's death. Were the two of them really that close? The SHIELD file hadn't specified, and Steve didn't think he knew Tony well enough yet to ask that kind of personal question.

A white limo with tinted windows pulled up to the curb, and Tony's driver got out to open the door for them.

"Where to, boss?"

"The tower," Tony said, then seemed to suddenly remember Steve's existence again. "Unless you have someplace else you'd rather be?"

"Not really," Steve said. He had, at Tony's insistence, left his overnight bag at the tower earlier in the day. Parts of the building were still being repaired, but Tony had assured him that the guest rooms were ready for occupation. "As long as you don't mind my company."

"Then it's settled." Tony climbed into the back seat and immediately reached for the minibar. "You heard the man, Happy. Let's go."

* * *  
Stark tower had a separate garage just for Tony's use, with a private elevator going straight up to the residential floors. The elevator was nicer than many rooms Steve had lived in, wood paneling and brass fixtures everywhere. Tony brought his glass of scotch in from the limo, and sipped at it as they were smoothly whisked upwards.

"Jarvis, you know Captain Rogers, right? Make sure he has everything he needs."

"Certainly, sir. It's good to see you again, Captain." Jarvis' voice seemed to come from the elevator ceiling, though Steve could see no sign of a speaker there. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable. "

"I'm sure everything is fine," Steve said, "thank you." He wasn't entirely sure whether Jarvis had feelings, but he figured it never hurt to be polite.

The elevator gave a faint chime as the doors slid open, and Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder.

"This is where I get off. Your suite is two floors up. Sweet dreams, _mon capitaine_ , I'll see you in the morning." He sounded carefree enough, almost like his usual self, but his smile didn't reach his eyes and he practically ran from the elevator before Steve had a chance to reply.

"Good night," Steve said to the closing doors and rode up to his floor in silence.

His guestroom turned out to be a suite, slightly larger than his apartment in DC. The sitting room had a desk, a sofa, and a flat screen TV that took up most of one wall. The bedroom had a walk-in closet, which Steve thought was a bit of overkill, and a framed black and white photo of the Brooklyn Bridge hanging over the bed. The bed itself had a blue duvet and a pile of red and white pillows on it. The bathroom was a decadent marvel of marble and chrome, with a sunken tub that could've doubled as a small swimming pool.

Steve's duffel bag was on a chair next to the bed. He changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, sat cross-legged on top of the duvet, and looked up at the ceiling.

"Jarvis?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Can I get internet in here?"

"Of course." Jarvis sounded faintly insulted by the question. "The television set in the next room functions as a monitor. You will find a keyboard in the desk drawer."

"Uhm. Can I just use my phone? I'm kind of used to doing everything on it these days."

"If you insist." Jarvis sounded even more insulted but duly dictated the password.

"Thank you," Steve said, and entered a search for Obadiah Stane.

As with most things Steve tried to research on the internet, there was a veritable mountain of information to sort through. Obituaries in every major publication and most of the minor ones; a biography on Wikipedia; magazine profiles, clips of TV interviews, news stories dating decades back. Obadiah Stane, Steve discovered, had studied economics at Harvard; met Howard Stark in 1965, and became CFO of Stark Industries three years later; married and divorced three times; had one child, a son, who lived in England with his mother. Took over as CEO of SI when Howard died, then stepped aside gracefully when Tony turned twenty-one. An image search showed a tall, distinguished-looking man with piercing eyes and a hairline that steadily receded over the years. Most of the pictures had Stane standing next to Howard, and then next to Tony. In fact, it was almost impossible to find a mention of Stane that didn't also include a mention of a Stark.

One photo in particular stuck in Steve's mind: Stane at one of Maria Stark's charity luncheons, casual in slacks and a polo shirt, holding a three-year-old Tony in his arms. Tony, apparently camera-shy at that age, had his arms around Stane's neck and his face hidden against the man's chest, and Stane was looking down at him with an expression of fond amusement. If he didn't know better, Steve would've thought he was looking at a father and son picture.

_No wonder Tony's upset. They must've been very close._

And yet… something was off, and it was nagging at Steve like an unbalanced element in an otherwise perfect composition. Tony had looked stricken, yes, when Ezekiel Stane approached him, but not _grief_ -stricken. There was something else going on.

And if Tony wanted him to know what it was, he could've said something when they were riding back in the limo. The fact that he hadn't meant that Steve should stop stewing over things that were none of his business and get some sleep.

This proved easier said than done. Steve tossed and turned for nearly an hour before admitting defeat and sitting up again.

"Jarvis?"

"Captain?"

"Where can a fellow get a cup of warm milk around here?"

"The common area on the floor below yours has a fully stocked kitchen, Sir."

The floor below was mostly taken up by a huge oval living room with floor to ceiling windows and sleek, modern-looking furniture. A lit doorway at the far end was presumably the kitchen, so Steve headed toward it. He expected to find the place empty, but Tony was there, seated at the island in the center with his hands curled around an oversized coffee mug.

"Cap." Tony blinked blearily at him. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep." Steve padded over to the refrigerator. "Looks like that makes two of us."

Tony looked as if he hadn't been to bed at all. He was dressed in jeans and a black tank top, the arc reactor glowing faintly through the thin fabric. He looked exhausted, and his hands shook a little when he lifted his mug to drink. Still, he managed a tiny smile as he watched Steve pour milk into a mug and put it into the microwave.

"Warm milk, Cap, seriously? Tell me you're at least going to spike it with something."

"Does honey count?" Steve asked. 

Tony sputtered into his mug. "I love it. Captain America, insomniac toddler. Would you like a teddy bear to take back to bed with you? Or Jarvis could read a bedtime story, if that would help."

"It would help a lot more than your coffee," Steve said. Tony shrugged.

"I never said I was trying to sleep."

"Aren't you?" Steve pulled up a stool and sat down across the island from Tony. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"That's the second time you asked me that." Tony's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you seemed pretty upset back there." Steve hesitated, aware that he was about to venture into what Tony must consider personal territory. "It must've been difficult, running into Obadiah Stane's son out of the blue like that."

Tony's suspicious look sharpened into a full-fledged glare. "What do you know about Stane?"

Steve shrugged. "Only what everyone knows. He was a close friend to Howard and then to you. You knew him all your life, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Tony said hoarsely. "All my life."

And there it was again -- something off in Tony's expression, something that didn't fit with the image of that little boy in Obadiah Stane's arms. Steve couldn't begin to guess what it was, but he knew he hated seeing Tony like that, tense and miserable, all humor gone from his eyes.

"Look," he said, "if you want to talk… I know what it's like to suddenly loose someone you really care about."

"You don't know shit about this," Tony growled. "You said it yourself: you only know what everybody knows."

"Right." Steve considered the implications of that. "What doesn't everybody know, then?"

"What difference does it make?" Tony's voice was bitter. "Obadiah's dead, so what does it matter what people do or don't know?"

"Seems like it matters to you," Steve said.

Tony glared at him and didn't answer. The microwave beeped. Steve got up and fetched his mug, searched the cupboards until he found a jar of honey, stirred a spoonful into his milk and sat down again, and still Tony said nothing. Steve was getting ready to write off the entire conversation as a loss when Tony abruptly spoke.

"Obadiah Stane paid the Ten Rings to kill me in Afghanistan."

Steve sputtered into his mug. "He _what?_ "

"Yeah." Tony let out a short, bitter laugh. "That was pretty much my reaction when I found out. He paid them to kill me, and when I had the bad manners to come back alive he had a go himself." He pressed one clenched hand against his chest right where the arc reactor was. 

"That," Steve said, "was _not_ in the file SHIELD gave me."

Tony shrugged. "I guess Fury didn't think you had a need to know."

"Why wasn't he arrested?"

"Because I killed him first." Tony shuddered and rubbed his hand over his face in a jerky movement. "Well, technically I guess Pepper killed him, but she was doing what I told her so I guess the buck stops with me. Isn't that how it works, Captain? The one who gives the orders bears the responsibility?"

Steve shook his head, still processing the idea that he'd just spent half the night researching a lie.

"It's funny," Tony said slowly, "this is actually the first time I told anyone. Pepper found out first, and she contacted SHIELD and Rhodey, so I've never actually had to say the words: Obadiah tried to kill me… Obadiah tried to kill me. Feels weird to say it."

"And his son…"

"Has no idea what really happened, and I can't tell him." Tony closed his eyes. "How could I possibly explain it to him? I can't even explain it to myself. The guy who taught me to throw a baseball when I was five paid a terrorist group to kill me when I was thirty-nine. What do I do with that? How do I make sense of it?"

Steve was still trying to come up with a good answer to that when the lights went out.

"Jarvis?" Tony's voice was instantly alert, the earlier tremor gone without a trace. "What's going on?" No answer. "Okay, that's not good."

"Is there a blackout?" Steve walked over to the door and looked out into the living room. The skyline outside the windows looked ordinary enough, all the surrounding buildings lit up.

"That shouldn't matter anyhow." Tony came over to stand next to Steve. "The tower has its own power source, that was the whole point of building it. Something's wrong, I need to--."

The living room floor exploded in a cloud of dust and debris. A dark shape floated above the breach, lit only by a triangle of pale blue light in the center of its chest: Iron Man. Except it couldn't be, because Iron Man was standing next to Steve. Was there someone else inside the armor, or was it moving on its own somehow?

"Uh, Tony?..."

Tony grabbed Steve's arm and pulled. "Duck!"

They both hit the floor just in time. A repulsor beam sliced through the air above them, right where Tony's head had been a second before. The armor moved forward, lowering its gauntlets to aim at Tony, who scrambled backwards across the floor. There was no time to think, only to act. Steve coiled into a low crouch and launched himself forward, slamming shoulder-first into the armor's knees.

It felt like hitting a cement block; the impact jarred every bone in Steve's body. But it did the job -- the armor toppled over, arms flailing wildly. A stray repulsor beam blasted a hole in the wall next to the kitchen doorway. The armor immediately started getting up again, but then Tony was there, thumbing some kind of switch at the back of the helmet. The reactor light in the armor's torso went dark, and the armor clattered back to the floor and went still.

"Well, shit," Tony said.

Steve couldn't disagree with the sentiment. "What the hell is going on, Tony?"

"I don't know!" Tony's face, lit from below by the arc reactor, looked wide-eyed and pale. "This shouldn't be possible." He pressed two fingers against the armor's helmet, just above the faceplate. There was a faint click and the faceplate slid open to reveal empty space behind it. "Someone must've been controlling it remotely somehow. My money's on the same asshole who shut down Jarvis."

"How could--" Steve began, but a sudden movement in the corner of his vision sent him lunging forward on instinct. He tackled Tony to the floor just in time to avoid a barrage of repulsor blasts from a second suit of armor that rose from the breach in the floor. At the same time, the first armor came back to life with a flare of blue light and began moving again.

"Run," Tony said grimly.

Steve glanced around. "Where?"

"This way." Tony scrambled to his feet and ran toward what appeared to be a blank wall. He smacked the palm of his hand against it, and a panel slid aside to reveal a door. "Fire stairs, let's go."

Steve dodged three more blast in his sprint for the stairs. The fourth one buckled the door just as he shut it behind him. The stairwell was unnervingly dark, no light source apart from Tony's reactor.

"Come on," Tony said breathlessly, tugging at Steve's arm, "the door won't hold them them for long and it's a long way down."

Steve shook his head. "Up first. If I can get my shield, I can hold them off on our way down."

They were halfway up the flight to Steve's suite when an explosion above showered them with shards of wood and plaster. At the same time, the door below them caved in and heavy metal footsteps thundered onto the landing.

Steve stumbled to a halt. "How many suits have you got?"

"Four prototypes in the workshop," Tony told him, "plus the Mark 6 in storage."

"Are they all going to come after us?"

"Looks like it. Which way now?" 

Steve stepped close and wrapped one arm around Tony's waist.

"Down," he said, and leaped over the railing.

One day, assuming they survived this, he was going to tease Tony mercilessly for the shriek he let out as they went into freefall. Steve filed that thought away as he flung out his free arm. For a second or two his hand flailed through empty air, and he had the horrible thought that he'd leaped out too far. Then his fingers met metal and gripped. Their fall stopped with a jerk that nearly tore his arm from its socket.

"Holy shit!" Tony wheezed into his ear.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked.

"No!" Tony sounded furious. "What the hell--"

"Listen, I need both my arms to pull us up, can you hold on to me by yourself?"

"No."

"Wrong answer, try again."

"Fuck you, Rogers," Tony spat, but he wrapped his arms around Steve's waist with surprising strength. "This is not how I planned to die. Or when."

"You're not dying on my watch." Steve reached up with his other arm, found the railing and gripped it, pulled up until his feet found purchase and Tony could clamber over him onto the stairs. "Are you all right now?"

"Define all right."

"You sound fine to me." Steve hoisted himself over the railing. "Come on, let's keep going before they catch up to us."

"Wait." Tony grabbed his sleeve. "How far did we fall?"

"Two flights, I think. Why?"

"Follow me."

The stairwell door opened into what appeared to be another living room, a little smaller than the one they'd just escaped from. Once again, Tony slapped his hand against the wall, and once again a panel slid aside to reveal a door. The room on the other side was maybe ten feet square.

"There," Tony gasped as he bolted the door behind them, "this should buy us some time."

Steve glanced around, trying to make out what details he could see in the arc reactor's light. There were some cabinets on the walls and some kind of electronics panel on the back wall but no furniture that he could see.

"What is this place?"

"Panic room." Tony took a flashlight from one of the cabinets and switched it on. In the brighter light, Steve could see that his face was smudged with dust and a cut on one arm was seeping a thin trail of blood down his bicep. "I had it installed when I still thought Pepper was going to move in. The door is the same alloy as the armors only three times as thick, and the walls are reinforced steel."

"Will it keep the Iron Men out?"

"Not permanently. But like I said, it'll buy us time." Tony walked over to the panel at the back and poked at a few buttons; nothing happened. "Damn. If we survive this, remind me to put a separate power source in here."

"I'll make a note of it," Steve said. "I don't suppose you have any weapons in here?"

"Nope. Make a note of that too. We've got food, water and blankets, though."

"Great," Steve said. "We can go camping."

There was a series of metallic clangs outside, and the sound of repulsors firing. The door shuddered but held.

"How much time do we have, exactly?" Steve asked.

"Ten minutes, maybe." Tony sat down on the floor, leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I can think of something in ten minutes."'

"I hope so," Steve said. "Because once that door goes, we'll be sitting ducks in here."

"Less talking, more thinking," Tony muttered.

Steve opened up all the cabinets and rummaged inside. He found cans of food, a stack of blankets, another flashlight and some spare batteries… nothing that would help him fight five Iron Men hand-to-hand without his shield. He would still fight, of course, but at the moment Steve had to admit their chances didn't look too good.

"Okay, got it." Tony sprang to his feet and paced the room, running his fingers through his hair. "I know what I need to do. But I'll need your help and you can't lose your shit, okay?"

"Hey," Steve said, "I'm not the one with a special room set aside for panicking."

"Touche." Tony stopped pacing and handed Steve the flashlight. "Okay, here's the plan. I can rig my arc reactor to emit an EMP."

"An EMwhat?"

"An Electro-mag-- never mind. The point is, it'll fry everything electronic in a five-hundred yard radius of us, including the armors. Problem is, it'll fry the reactor itself, too."

Steve's eyes widened. "Won't that kill you?"

"That's where _you_ come in." Tony poked one finger at Steve's chest. "There's a spare reactor in my workshop. It's in a shielded safe, so the EMP won't affect it. You'll need to get me up there, open the safe, and plug the new reactor into my chest."

Steve's imagination instantly produced about a thousand ways this could go wrong.

"I don't like this plan."

Tony spread his arms. "I'm open to alternate suggestions."

"I can fight our way out."

"Seriously?" Tony boggled at him. "You'd rather fight five of my armors than help me with the reactor? Is this some sort of machismo thing?"

"No! But-- I don't know anything about medicine…"

"You don't need to. I designed the new reactors to be easy to install. All you need to do is pop it in and twist until it clicks. Come on, Cap." Tony clapped him on the shoulder. "I trust you with this."

"I'm not sure I trust _you_ ," Steve said bluntly. "You're the guy who flew a nuke into space; I don't think I want to rely on your sense of self-preservation."

"Rely on my professional pride then." Tony's grin had a manic edge to it. "I refuse to be murdered in my own house by my own inventions. It would be too embarrassing. Justin Hammer would die laughing in prison cell. You're not gonna let that happen, are you?"

Another repulsor blast outside; another violent shudder from the door.

"No." Steve took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I'm not."

"Good. Now hold the flashlight while I work."

* * *

It was thoroughly unnerving to watch Tony sit cross-legged on the floor, shoulders hunched, a gaping dark hole in his chest where the arc reactor should've been. Tony's breathing was harsh and his face glistened with sweat, but his hands were perfectly steady as they worked the wires at the back of the reactor. Steve just hoped he himself could stay equally steady as he crouched next to him with the flashlight.

The door to the panic room was slightly buckled now, and the blasts still came at a steady pace. Steve wondered what would give in first -- Tony, or the deadbolt.

"How long can you keep going like this?"

"About fifteen minutes." Tony spoke without looking up. "But we won't need that long, I'm almost done." He coiled two more wires together with a quick twist of his fingers and let out a ragged sigh. "There. Now when I give the word, open the door."

"Got it." Steve padded over stand by the door, and slowly slid back the deadbolt. "Say when."

"When!"

Steve kicked the door open, and threw himself to one side. There was a blinding flash of light, and a sharp ozone smell filled the air. Steve crouched into a fighting stance, and blinked until his vision cleared.

Nothing attacked him. The panic room was pitch-black now, the flashlight gone dark along with Tony's reactor. The room on the other side of the door was a little brighter, the windows illuminated by the city lights outside. It was just enough for Steve to make out the shapes of five armors crowded around the door, dark and motionless.

"Damn," he said, "it worked."

"Told you," Tony wheezed. His voice was frighteningly weak. Steve made his way to the back of the room and felt around in the dark until he found Tony, lying curled up on his side. Steve could feel him shivering, his tank top soaked with sweat.

"Tony…"

"The workshop. _Go._ "

Steve scooped Tony up into his arms and stood. His instinct was to run, but he knew he couldn't risk it, not in the dark, not with Tony punctuating each breath with a pained little hitch. He forced himself to keep a cautious pace -- out the door, across the living room, into the stairwell… each step up was an exercise in patience.

"Stay with me, Tony."

"Not… going… anywhere."

Landing. Corridor. Workshop. "Where to now?"

Tony's hand clenched around a fistful of Steve's shirt. "Back of the room… safe above the… above the…"

"I'll find it."

There was a work bench at the back of the room. Steve laid Tony on top of it and felt along the wall until his hands found a thick metal handle. That had to be the safe. Steve gripped the handle and wrenched the door open with a single violent pull.

The sight of an arc reactor's glow was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. Steve grabbed the reactor and bent over Tony on the bench.

"What do I do now?"

Tony's only response was a series of pained gasps.

There was no time to dither about it _Pop it in and twist until it clicks_ , that was what Tony had said earlier. Steve did that now, holding his breath as he turned the reactor in its casing. The faint sound of a click made him dizzy with relief.

"Did I do that right? Tony? Tony?"

"Whoa." Tony's voice was pitched a little higher than usual. "That was exciting wasn't it?" He gripped Steve's shoulder with one hand and hoisted himself up to sit on the bench. "Let's not do that again."

"You _idiot_." Steve grabbed Tony's arms and barely managed to stop himself from shaking him like a rag doll. "I thought you were going to die."

"I didn't."

"You were going to die in my arms and I didn't-- I couldn't--"

"I'm fine." Tony pressed his hands against Steve's chest. "I'm fine, it's all right."

"It's not all right! Tony…"

"Steve…"

He was never sure which one of them leaned in first. All he knew was, one moment they were yelling at each other, and the next moment their mouths were pressed together. And Tony's hands were in his hair, and he was cupping Tony's face, and…

Steve pulled his head back with a gasp. "Tony, I--"

"Niiiice," Tony drawled, and passed out.

* * *  
THREE DAYS LATER

"Nanobots." Steve frowned at the unfamiliar word. "What's a nanobot when it's at home?"

"A very tiny robot." Tony shut his laptop with a click and swung his legs onto the sofa. "And by tiny, I mean molecule-sized. Ezekiel Stane's company manufactures them."

They were in the penthouse suite at the Battery Park Ritz-Carlton, where Tony was staying while the tower was repaired yet again. Tony was looking remarkably good for a man who'd nearly died three days before, relaxed in jeans and a dark red shirt, his feet bare and his hair tousled. He had a bottle of cognac on the coffee table next to the sofa, and was sipping slowly from a glass as he filled Steve in on the latest news.

"So it was definitely Stane?" Steve asked. "Fury is sure of this now?"

"Pretty damn sure." Tony finished his drink and promptly poured himself another one. "Fury had the NYPD seize Stane's personal computer and you know what they found? A copy of Obadiah's SHIELD file. The real one, with the full story of how he died. Apparently, someone mailed him a disk, and neither SHIELD nor Ezekiel himself know where it came from. Fury is spitting nails."

"I'll bet." Steve could only imagine Fury's reaction to that sort of a leak in his organization, particularly one that caused this much trouble. "So Stane got his nanobots into the tower's computer system? How?"

"That's the billion dollar question, isn't it?" Tony shrugged. "My guess is, they were on that business card he gave me. It was big enough to hold a few million of the things. But I doubt we'll ever know for sure."

"Unless Stane talks."

"Unless Stane talks." Tony put his glass down and let his head fall back onto the sofa's arm. "Damn. I've gotta be some kind of bad luck charm for the Stane family, huh? Two generations in a row now."

"I think," Steve said, "that the Stane family has been making its own bad luck. You got caught up in it, that's all."

"And then I went and got you caught up in it." Tony grimaced. "I bet you wish I'd never talked you into that stupid gala, huh?"

"Actually," Steve said, "I'm really glad I went. Because if I hadn't, you'd have been all alone when Stane attacked, and you would've been killed."

"Nah," Tony said carelessly, "I would've thought of something. Being a genius and all."

"Maybe," Steve said, though he didn't believe it for a moment. "But I'm glad you didn't have to. Besides, if I hadn't been there--" He broke off, suddenly unsure if he should continue.

 _If I hadn't been there, we wouldn't have kissed._ The words hung there, unspoken yet deafeningly loud, while the two of them stared at each other.

Tony broke first. "Look, Steve, about what happened…"

"Which part?" Steve asked, though he knew perfectly well.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You know. The part where I kissed you."

Steve felt his face grow warm. "I'm pretty sure I kissed you."

"Whatever. The part where kissed. That was the adrenaline talking, right?"

"Probably," Steve said, and watched Tony's face fall. "But that doesn't mean it was a bad thing. At the very least, I'd like to find out what it feels like when the adrenaline _isn't_ talking."

Tony sat up, looking cautiously hopeful. "It's not talking now."

Steve thought that was debatable, given the way his heart was pounding, but he moved from his chair to the edge of the sofa and laid one had lightly on the back of Tony's head as they both leaned in.

This kiss was softer and slower than their first one, the details clearer in Steve's mind. Tony's mouth was soft and warm, and tasted faintly of brandy. His goatee felt slightly raspy in a way Steve instantly decided he liked. Tony's hands pressed warmly against Steve's back, and the sounds he made as Steve deepened the kiss were positively indecent. By the time they pulled apart, both of them were panting.

"Well?" Tony breathed after a while. "What's the verdict?"

"Promising," Steve said. "But I think I need to know what it's like under a variety of circumstances. After a nice dinner, for example. Or a walk in the park."

Tony grinned. "I think I can arrange that."


End file.
